


Mistakes and Repairations

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Awkward Pawing, M/M, Spark Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5136848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Really, by now, they should be used to stupid things tumbling out of Carrion's mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Slagging Mouth

Silence never really boded well, especially where Starscream was concerned. His silence always meant he was thinking about something, _brooding_ on it, which was fine with Carrion… unless what he was brooding about was him. And in this case, it most definitely was.

“Your slagging _mouth_.” Starscream growled, glowering at the younger jet as he finished repairing the last little bit of damage done to his Commander’s helm.

Carrion shifted guiltily, keeping his hands carefully in place as he maneuvered the welder over the last remnants of his Commander’s latest beating. He had been blamed for all manner of failures that he’d been uninvolved in and called any number of names, berated as incompetent and foolhardy and childish; these things came with the territory of spending any amount of time around the Air Commander. Generally, the older seeker could say whatever he liked and Carrion could let it roll off him, at the very worst snarking back and goading his superior into a verbal battle.

Today, however, he could only accept his role in today’s mishap. His slagging mouth, indeed. The beating Starscream had been subjected to had been mercifully brief, the quick-thinking mech able to utter just the right words in just the right moments to defuse their Lord’s wrath. But still, if Carrion could keep his mouth _closed_ every once and a while, it would never have happened in the first place.

“Sorry,” he mumbled after a moment’s pause, finally pulling away from his work. There was a bare spot in the paint, and a larger area was entirely devoid of finish, but though Carrion was becoming more and more competent with the more cosmetic end of this job, he had the feeling Starscream was going to go to Knock Out for those ‘repairs’.

The single syllable he’d uttered was enough to earn him a derisive little laugh, the sound every bit as dangerous as the silence had been. Carrion impulsively took a step back, wary that his Commander might seek retribution even now, after his wounds were sealed and his aches removed. The larger jet had yet to ever actually hurt Carrion, but he couldn’t help feeling wary.  Especially when the other mech’s optics were still locked on him, pinning him in place.

He was a little surprised by his Commander’s tone when he spoke, already more lecturing than venomous. Still, the predatory way he rolled his shoulders as he strode toward him made Carrion nervous. “When you’re dealing with Soundwave,” Starscream said, “you’d do best to keep your mouth _shut_.”

A likely happenstance, Carrion thought. He never could keep himself from talking for very long; it was an irreparable defect that he’d been afflicted with since he could string words together. Evidently Starscream understood that as well; his mouth was quirked with a malicious sneer as his claws landed on Carrion’s shoulders. The touch was firm but not painful, just present enough for the larger jet to steer him backwards, cornering him.

“But,” the Commander said, voice low and conspiratorial, “since we _both_ know you can’t manage that, you ought to be at least capable of keeping your banter to the nonsensical.”

A combination of those soft tones and the remembrance of being trapped in a confined space with that creeper, Soundwave, gave Carrion an allover shudder. “I thought I _was_ ,” he said, trying to keep himself from sounding as if he were whining.

“And yet,” Starscream murmured, keeping his voice even and empty of the anger Carrion knew had to be lurking somewhere, “somehow Soundwave went back to Megatron with recorded proof of my _imminent betrayal_.”

Carrion felt his wings meet the wall and his optics widened slightly. In spite of the lack of rage his Commander was exhibiting – or perhaps because of it – he felt very accused. “I said I’m sorry. I just… _Primus_ , he was staring at me and I really, really tried to be quiet but he wouldn’t _stop_. I didn’t think I said anything important, anything he could piece together.”

There was an audible whir as Starscream’s vents tried to cool, a sure sign that under this veil of patience, the other was very, very irritated. “Anything you say about _anything_ honestly happening on this ship, he can piece together. He spies on everyone, sees everything, and reports it all back to Megatron. There is a chance that he is still watching.”

“Okay, well that’s really creepy.”

Annoyance flashed in the Commander’s eyes, making Carrion once again regret his insuppressible need to voice nearly every thought that passed through his head. The larger jet leaned against him slightly, voice barely a hiss when he spoke again. “Are you defective? Is this not making sense to you?”

Honestly, he wasn’t exactly grasping what Starscream was trying to get him to see, but such was often the case when the other seeker tried to be vague. He took the moment of silence afforded to him to try to think. “You… want me to lie whenever I’m around Soundwave?”

Another huff of annoyance, Starscream’s optics flicking over his face. Something writ there made him smile again, the expression twisted between malicious and amused. “Such a pretty face,” he purred, startling the younger jet when a pair of claws lightly traced his jaw line. “Do you know what it would look like if Megatron decided to take his wrath out on you for what you said?”

Probably like nothing at all. Megatron wouldn’t beat him into scrap, he’d _destroy_ him. And it would be casual, cold, and probably done before Carrion even knew he was in trouble. He didn’t matter enough for Megatron to waste his energy explaining himself.

His knowledge must have reflected in his expression, because the sneer on his Commander’s face widened fractionally. “Do you think you can lie well enough to survive when I’m not in the mood to cover for your stupidity?”

The answer to that was obvious to both of them; Carrion wasn’t deluded enough to think he could lie as casually or convincingly as the older seeker. And yet, he found himself unwilling to take the question, clearly intended to impress how vulnerable he was, and just let it be as it was. “You could teach me.”

Sometimes the things he said were strange or stupid enough to shock an honest wheeze of amusement from his Commander, and evidently this was one of those times. Optics locked on his superior’s, Carrion managed to suppress a shudder as claws trailed from his jawline, down his neck, to brush against the sensitive seam of his chest plates. “So you want me to teach you something.” The larger seeker murmured thoughtfully.

The words felt like they meant something else, especially combined with that strange lingering touch, but Carrion decided that the weird undertones could only be his imagination. Starscream was toying with him, probably, and that was because he was angry with him.  Hence his attempt at flattery: there was no one in existence better at subterfuge than Starscream, and they both knew it.

So he tried his very best to sound as sincere as he could when he leaned forward and said, “Yes.”

It felt very strange to have Starscream’s claws on him this way, he was used to punishing flicks or playful shoves, not this… gentleness. He couldn’t keep himself from shivering slightly when the light touch stroked against the seam of his armor, producing a sensation he hadn’t been aware existed. It made him involuntarily arch his back into the other mech’s hand, the suddenness of the motion leaving him feeling inexplicably vulnerable.

Which, honestly, was understandable. Starscream was playing with the armor that protected his spark chamber. And while it felt pretty nice, he couldn’t help but expect that pain was soon to follow. His own claws came up to graze Starscream’s forearm, the touch light in spite of the way he wanted to clutch.

But, thankfully, the caress moved from the frighteningly vulnerable chest armor to his neck; still fragile but less immediately threatening. “Can you do as I tell you?” Starscream purred, leaning close enough that their foreheads touched. Somehow the question made Carrion’s engine rev a little faster, once again the words trying to morph into something that they couldn’t possibly mean.

Feeling as if he might fall otherwise, he let his claws curl around his Commander’s shoulder, tips absently brushing against the place where the larger jet’s wings met his back. “I always try to,” he said softly, voice tinged with confusion and anxiety, still waiting for pain, still trying to understand how this was helping him not die when Megatron decided he needed killing.

He felt Starscream chuckle more than heard him, his head tilting away and bowing, so suddenly the other mech’s face was against his neck, denta grazing the delicate plating in a way that made Carrion’s processor blank for a moment, claws clutching at the other’s armor. Without thinking, he felt the plating fold away under Starscream’s touch, revealing the more sensitive infrastructure.

Nuzzling against the vulnerable cords, the Commander seemed to enjoy the way the smaller seeker shook and clung to him, despite such closeness being something he generally would have frowned on. “Tilt your head back,” he instructed, rewarding compliance with another frazzling brush of denta against the exposed wiring. His claws trailed carefully up Carrion’s sides, tips slipping easily between the plates to tease the more sensitive areas that were meant to be sheltered.

Trapped against the wall, Carrion felt a strange surge of energy through his spark, the sensation pulling a little gasping whine from his vocals. Just as the plating on his neck had folded away without his bidding, the protective armor on his chest started to retract, splitting open just a hairsbreadth. A palm swept over the shuddering plates, comforting and threatening all at once.

When a claw hitched under the seam and dipped into the sensitive metals beneath, the young jet arched his back even as his engine revved again in panic. “I don’t understand,” he panted, trying not to feel disappointed when Starscream’s face pulled away from his neck. Trying not to regret opening his mouth, even in the face of the displeased narrowing of Starscream’s optics.

Yet when he spoke, it was clear that his Commander was for some reason still playing at patience, which was all the more confusing. The claw toying with the still-split seam in his armor continued its taunting touch as the older seeker rasped, “Don’t understand _what_?”

Everything about this situation seemed weird and wrong, from the rhythm of his engine to the proximity in which they were standing. His whole body was abuzz with energy and he felt much too good for having just finished patching the larger jet up, after legitimately displaying his incompetence. And he didn’t understand how their conversation had wound up in just a few kliks going from lying and Carrion’s inability to do it effectively to… whatever this was.

“How is this helping me lie to Megatron?”

To him, the question seemed entirely reasonable. That was what they had been speaking of before now and so, he assumed, they were still on the subject.

Obviously, judging from the look on Starscream’s face, they did not agree on that point. The expression was an odd mixture of annoyance, anger, and honest confusion.  “What?”

Finally that distracting claw left his chest, Starscream withdrawing a half step. That was a good thing, Carrion told himself, smoothing a hand over his armor to press it back closed, forcibly ignoring the part of his processor that insisted the opposite. “You, you said--”

“You honestly thought this had anything to do with that.”

A statement, not a question. Carrion didn’t understand the sinking feeling in his over-excited spark, the clashing of hope and disappointment. He did, however, understand immediately that Starscream was very, very offended.

Before he could try to recover from whatever stupidity he was displaying now, the older jet turned away. “You really are naïve, _sparkling_ ,” The Commander spat, turning the last word into a curse as he stalked toward the doors.

Left alone in the empty room, the young seeker brought claws to his temple, trying to force them not to rattle and shake. He felt strangely dissatisfied, and his sensory arrays seemed to be permanently stuck on the memories of Starscream’s claws and denta on him.

The larger mech was only gone for a moment before it finally clicked, what his mouth had cost him this time.


	2. The Best Apologies Need No Words

The Best Apologies Need No Words

The flame of embarrassment had yet to leave Carrion, all these years later, whenever he was in a position to touch his Commander. At such close proximity, his processor refused to let him forget, or make excuses to cover for his outrageously stupid reaction.

Of all the times to try being rational, to actually think about what was going on. They’d been so close, and instead of just doing the _sane_ thing and enjoying the ride, he’d had to try and _process_. If he tried, his sensory arrays could still replicate the shadow of touches Starscream had lavished on him, though to do so only made him angrier at himself for ruining it. Still, there were plenty of times when he just couldn’t help indulging in that.

How could he have been oblivious enough not to get what his Commander had been getting at? Primus, he’d been _right there_.

Plenty of times in the years between that moment and this he’d tried to approach the older jet, and each attempt had met a cold rebuke or feigned disinterest.  He understood, kind of, because he really had been an idiot. He would have been offended with his behavior. Nothing he could say was going to make Starscream understand that he hadn’t _intended_ to offend.

It never occurred to the younger seeker that Starscream might honestly no longer be interested him on that level. He was still allowed to trail along after him, except when the Commander felt he would be in the way on some important mission or confrontation, and he was still the one that Starscream came to for most of his repairs. Even when there was no real reason for them to be together, he was allowed to linger.

He just had to convince Starscream that he wasn’t the naïve scrap he had so effectively emulated already. Subtlety had failed both of them last time, but Carrion knew his Commander well enough to know that the most direct approach would be frowned upon.

Gazing at the other mech’s wings, he thought idly about how sensitive his own were, and how nice it had felt when Starscream’s claws had so carefully glided against the delicate seams of his armor. How would it feel to have such a touch on his wings?

Assumedly, pretty good, if the reaction of the larger seeker were any way to gauge. His claws no more than brushed the edge of his Commander’s wing, and the other sat a little straighter. The gesture was casual, enough so that he could pretend not to have meant to do it, but that reaction was much too satisfying not to try again, more deliberately this time.

Brooding now effectively compromised, Carrion could almost feel Starscream’s attention shift to his wings and the claws on them. Now he was tracing meaningless swirls across the sensitive metal, dipping in and out of the more receptive regions in gestures that were light and almost absentminded. He couldn’t help smiling a little when he noticed his Commander turn his head enough to glance at him over his shoulder.

“Carrion.”

Not looking up from his claws, the smaller jet only hummed acknowledgement. He didn’t feel quite capable of keeping a calm façade if forced to meet Starscream’s optics.

“Stop that.”

Obedience could only get a mech so far, Carrion thought, stilling the motion but not pulling his claws away just yet. “But you seem to be enjoying it so well.”

Moving too quick for Carrion to make sense of what was intended, the older seeker swung around and grabbed hold of his wrist, pulling up on his arm to jerk him closer. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it isn’t amusing. Stop.”

Posture was an interesting thing, and Carrion had been given much time to study his Commander’s body language. Any one seeing them in this position would think he was being threatened, but this was far too fluid, far too careful – not exactly gentle, but Starscream’s grip on his wrist was only enough to hold him in place, not punishing but simply restraining – to be a threat. This was Starscream saying _no_ , but it was really him saying _convince me_.

Since he’d boarded the Nemesis, Carrion had been convincing Starscream that he was worth spending time with. Every klik he spent near his Commander was a continuation of that effort. He’d spent too long at this game not to know a few tricks.

Nevertheless, it was still hard to maintain an easy smile when he was being so effectively glared at, all of Starscream’s considerable bulk curled slightly over him. Still, he had practice with bravado, too. “I’m not trying to be _amusing_ ,” he said softly, curving his back to bring them a little closer together. Though his mouth threatened to take that statement further, he managed  to keep silent.

The grip on his wrist shifted a little, twisting his arm slightly and pulling him the rest of the way forward, so they were chest to chest. Despite the uncomfortable angle of his arm, Carrion felt a surge of triumph; if he had analyzed incorrectly, the other would likely have shoved him away and ignored him. This response, along with the understated shift in the brightness of Starscream’s optics was enough to tell him he had been correct. “Well then,” the larger seeker rumbled, red optics narrowing slightly, “What _are_ you after?”

“You,” Carrion said simply, the word ejecting itself from him before he could try to process something more subtle. That had never been his strong suit, being subtle.

A smirk played at the corners of his Commander’s mouth, but he maintained a stern look, keeping his brilliant optics narrow and his expression vaguely irritated. It was a façade, Carrion registered with some elation. “Oh, and are you certain you’re not too _scared_ this time?”

Letting his smile widen a little, the younger seeker dimmed his optics slightly, as though bored. “Not a bit.”

For the first time in a while, his words were rewarded with a low utterance of amusement, Starscream’s free claw moving to brush at Carrion’s waist. “Perhaps you should be,” he growled, finally giving in to his smirk. “You have frustrated me extensively.”

With the hand not trapped in his Commander’s grip, Carrion reached up to grip lightly at the back of the other mech’s neck. “I’m trying to apologize, then.”

“And,” Starscream murmured, voice pitched low as he rested his helm against Carrion’s, “What if I don’t want your apologies?”

There were times when Carrion had a very hard time meeting the older seeker’s gaze, either from embarrassment or fear. Now, however, he had nowhere else to look, and he didn’t really mind. “You do, though,” he asserted. “Even if your vocals say you don’t.”

A nano-klik of silence, before Starscream pulled away slightly, considering the claw caught in his grip. “Did you know a medic’s hands are between ten and fifteen percent more sensitive than any other mechs?” He asked idly. The tone was flat, and yet it still was enough to send a shiver through Carrion.

“I’m not a- _ohhh._ ” His voice cut out mid protest, optics brightening when the larger jet took the end of one claw in his mouth, scraping his denta lightly over the servos. 

“You’re _my_ medic,” the other seeker growled, pulling Carrion’s claw from his mouth, “whatever else you think you are.”

Carefully, excruciatingly,  each claw-tip was dealt the same treatment, denta working against servos in motions more delicate than Carrion would have thought his Commander capable of. It sent little flares of energy through his spark, every time the slightest pressure was applied.

Uncontrollably, he felt his chest plates sliding open as Starscream lavished attention on his servos, his engine revving. The feel of the Air Commander chuckling around his digits made it all the worse, and so did the palm brushing against the splitting armor, massaging the sensitive edges and encouraging it to open all the more. “So eager,” he murmured, claws dancing against the dermal metals.

He couldn’t speak back, could barely _think_ , but those two words made him feel embarrassed all over again. He turned his head away, unable to meet the other mech’s gaze as he was pushed back slightly, claw finally released.

The complete focus of the optics on his chest convinced him to glance at the other’s face. As he felt his armor fully retract, the hunger that took over his Commander’s face was somewhat startling. In a way, it was flattering; the expression belied any attempt Starscream might have made at saying he hadn’t been thinking about doing this just as much as Carrion had.

No time for really considering that, though, for no sooner had his spark chamber been revealed than a claw dipped in to brush against it. The touch was too light, much too light, to have forced the high whine out of his vocals, but the sound escaped anyway. “You… you’re touching…”

A brief glance was spared to his face, Starscream’s optics vibrant with amusement and appetite. “Yes, that’s the general idea,” He hissed, ghosting a claw over the glowing chamber once again.

It felt like more than he could stand, and the other mech had barely touched him. He’d always understood the basic principle of interfacing, of bonding, but he had never imagined it would feel like this; like his whole being was awash in energy, like he was on the verge of being consumed and smothered.

Starscream moved again, claw leaving his chest to slip around behind the smaller jet, pressing just so on his lower back to make him arch. Carrion could barely process what his Commander was about to do before the larger mech’s face was against his open chest, carefully nuzzling the wires that surrounded his spark chamber.

When he spoke, Carrion’s claws clutched where they rested on his neck, as if seeking purchase to save him from a fall. “I could kill you, you know,” was what he said, voice rumbling against his most sensitive metals.  The claws on his back mimicked Carrion’s earlier actions, tracing swoops and whorls at the edges of his armor as if to soothe him against the anxiety those words should bring.

“You won’t.”

 Occasionally he shocked  even himself, and this was certainly one of those cases. He was surprised by how confident he sounded, how foolish and honestly simple. But, he realized, he completely believed the words  – and that was as close as he could come to saying that he trusted his Commander; that he was so recklessly in love with him that he actually _trusted him_.

Exhaling another low sound of amusement, Starscream shifted a little closer, bringing his mouth directly against the doors of his spark chamber. As if that had been some engrained passkey, the younger jet felt aperture open, folding neatly to the side and baring his spark to whatever Starscream might want for it. Carrion could never have stopped him if he’d wanted to, and he didn’t.

A small shock raced through him at the sensation of his Commander’s mouth rubbing against his bare spark. He wondered absently, as his mouth opened with a low whine, if he could die without Starscream meaning to kill him; each little touch to his spark made him feel as if it might explode, even though it felt so good.

Denta closed gently on the globule of light and life, and Carrion reflexively surged forward, intensifying the thrill without meaning too. His processor felt half-scrapped, pleasure coursing through him like an electrical shock. “Ohh, don’t do that,” he panted, back arched tightly and claws cleaving to the back of Starscream’s neck. “Please don’t do that.”

It was odd how without even looking at his superior, he knew the other was entertained and exasperated in equal measure as he pulled back slightly. “You want me to stop?” he asked, but the question was hard edged and not really questioning at all.

Carrion shook his head in negation, hardly able to vocalize.

“Then shut up.”

He couldn’t, not for long anyway, and they both knew  that, but he encouraged the increased attention with his claws lightly tracing across the back of the other’s helm. Starscream’s hands held him up, allowing him to rock slightly against the larger ‘Con’s mouth in an unsteady rhythm.

As the pleasure started soaring toward a terrifying crescendo, words started tumbling from his mouth again; senseless babble in a low, panting octave. It might have been a chant if the words weren’t so variable, and  after a few kliks he realized he was reciting the vital functions of a healthy mech in the order a medic would check when preforming maintenance. It had been among the first lessons imprinted on his mind, now turned into helpless banter as he sagged, boneless, into his Commander’s embrace. 

Energy, white hot and electric, coursed suddenly through him, and he registered that Starscream must have felt some of it, with the way his head jerked back slightly. His optics shuttered for a second, the view of the ceiling that had been his focus for much of the last breem disappearing in flickers of white.

The larger jet sat up, considerate enough to continue allowing Carrion the use of an arm for support. He looked amused when the young soldier finally managed to glance at his face. He focused on slowing his engine, but it was kind of hard when he noticed that, for some reason, Starscream’s chest plates were folding back.

Not for some reason. Because of him; because somehow, in spite of having no idea what exactly he was doing, he done just the right thing to appeal to the older mech. The notion made him shiver slightly, a small aftershock coursing through his spark.

He really felt that he should ask permission, but he couldn’t yet trust his mouth not to spout something nonsensical. Wordlessly, he let his claw slide around from Starscream’s neck down to the freshly exposed opening. Somehow, he had never appreciated before how aesthetically pleasing the folding and twisting of his Commander’s wiring was; he’d seen enough of it in the course of his years serving as medic for the other. But now, as his claws slipped over the delicate cords in a way that was far from professional, light years from _clinical_ , he could only think that every inch of the Air Commander was a testament to efficiency and grace.

A claw brushed against Starscream’s spark chamber and he hummed in approval. Strangely, just that little noise was enough to make Carrion feel a little bolder, a little less like a fumbling idiot; he repeated the gesture with a little more pressure, stroking over the gates of the chamber. Gratified at the way they parted – however slightly – at his touch, he hooked a claw gently through the opening.

In spite of his bold motions, his claws shook slightly at the magnitude of what he was doing. At the scale and significance of what this represented. The larger jet uttered not a word, simply staring at him, waiting for his next move; he wasn’t nervous to have Carrion in this position, wasn’t tensed in preparation to toss him aside – as much as Carrion was willing to trust his Commander, he was being trusted in return.

Slipping through the willingly opened gates, the young seeker brushed the edge of a claw against Starscream’s  bared spark; thrilled by the little hiss the other gave, and the way he ached into his hand. The feeling of the spark against his servos was strange; the touch was simple, but felt almost as good on his claws as the caress of Starscream’s denta had. As he stroked the glowing orb, he had to work to stay silent, the sensitivity of his claws sending little quivers of pleasure as energy pulsed against them.

Carefully, he insinuated his palm against the palpitating ball of energy, claws closing around it in a loose embrace. He felt the larger jet stiffen against him, but a glance at his optics showed only encouragement, then a flickering shutter of pleasure when he gently twisted his wrist.

Moving his hand from different angles rewarded him with interesting responses; little noises or changes in posture that urged him on, convincing him to continue the gentle exploration in hopes of provoking something more. All too soon, though, he felt a little hitch in his Commander’s motion, claws taking him by the wrist and gently drawing his hand away from the brilliant spark.

Worried he had done something wrong, he scanned the other’s face, looking for a sign of displeasure. “Did I…”

“No,” Starscream cut him off, voice low and thick as he squeezed Carrion’s wrist slightly, the gesture somehow soothing instead of hurtful. “But I want… something else from you.”

That tone was enough to set the smaller seeker on edge; it was the twin of the vocal signature the Air Commander used before doing deep, personal harm to another. Yet it was different enough that the young jet felt comfortable being tugged closer. “Anything,” he offered, and refused to think about the consequences.

One hand on his back and the other at his throat, Starscream maneuvered him into a graceful backbend, curling his bulk over him. His spark chamber, which had started to close despite the pleasure he’d taken from his attentions to the older mech, reopened willingly when aligned with Starscream’s, and suddenly his body was set aflame. It was agony, he thought at first; a perfect, exquisite agony – because pain was the only thing he could associate with such total, system-wide synapse response.

Shaking and arching toward the other, he stammered, frantically looking for words that were loath to come. Finally he managed to grind out an incredibly inaccurate stammer; “K-kuh- _killing_ me.”

Claws stroked at his neck, tracing the edges of the armor as they had once before, a long time ago, and he was amazed to see his Commander smile slightly, utterly without malice. It was hardly there, hardly an expression at all, but he sealed it in his memory because it _was_ there. “Shush,” he ordered, grinding slightly down against the smaller mech.

It was like taking a fist to the head; his optics shuttered at the trivial motion and his processor responded with a flare of white noise. But it wasn’t pain; no, he realized sharply, when his mind could manage a coherent thought – this wasn’t pain, it was deep, resounding bliss, not just his own but somehow Starscream’s as well. This was system resonance, and it was amazing.

Never in life had he felt so conflicted, so consumed. Chest to chest with Starscream, he felt horribly vulnerable and yet safer than ever before; he shivered and writhed and scrambled to find purchase, to find a way to push back more solidly against the larger ‘Con. The actions of his Commander were much more controlled, rolling slowly against him in a way that brought their sparks together just so.

The armor on his neck folded away willingly and he let his head fall back without needing to be asked, making room for the older jet to once again bring his mouth to the bared wires of his throat. He braced himself back on his elbows, seeking leverage that he couldn’t quite get from the claws supporting him, and rocked solidly against his partner, earning an appreciative groan from them both.

Words were tumbling out of him, absent and frantic and meaningless – not even coherent enough to be considered phrases: a weapons spec melted into the chemical formula for a deadly acid, which somehow became praise of his Commander’s build. His vocalizations reverberated strangely against  the other’s mouth, and he felt denta close on an energon pump and could only dip his head back further, unable to stop his babble enough to request _more_.

Measured movements became frenzied; the claws holding the small of his back dug in and pulled him closer. Some irrelevant piece of plating in his abdomen dented as Starscream ground against him, as artless and desperate and feverish as Carrion felt, and then suddenly the older mech stiffened against him, clutching them hard together. Energy poured into him from his Commander’s over-charged spark and his banter finally cut out, replaced with a long, verb-less utterance of pleasure as he felt the other come undone above him.

He writhed at the surplus of energy forced into his chamber, feeling his own spark surging, mingling totally with the other. Metal whined against metal as they cleaved together, riding out the beats with short, half-hearted rocking motions; Carrion with his face angled at the ceiling and Starscream with his buried against his soldier’s throat.

It was rare that Carrion was ever moved beyond words, but in that moment, as their spark – and that was what it was now; not two sparks for two mechs but one spark for one pair – pulsed waves of excess power through them and they clung hard to one another, he found himself utterly silent.

At long last he felt the energy subside, his spark disengaging from his Commander’s as Starscream sat back. He was too shocked to do more than absently close his shark chamber, leaving his plating lazily open as he watched the other jet’s armor close and lock into place.

Both of their engines were purring at higher speeds than normal, fans trying to vent the raised air and keep them from overheating. They were equally tired, but, he gauged, equally pleased.

A slow smirk curled Starscream’s mouth, as teasing as the claw that ran lightly over Carrion’s neck, tracing the still-exposed wires. “Now, aren’t you sorry you blew me off?”

For a moment, the young seeker paused.  There was no sincerity in the other’s words, he decided; he wasn’t being mocked or chided. He decided on a grin, shifting up against the touch. “What,” he asked lightly, optics glinting, “you want another apology?”


End file.
